Half Moon Rising-Chapter 14

Notes:

• Previous Chapter

• So, remember when I promised someone important would make an appearance in this chapter? Sorry, but they decided not to show up yet…😂 They will in the next chapter!

• I suppose Drustan can be considered important…

Chapter 14-Memories

Artham stood in a windowless, lamp-lighted room, peering into a dim mirror, pulling at the collar of his black tunic. He heard Esben come in behind him. 

     “Hey,” Artham’s tone was very flat as he greeted his brother without turning around. 

     “Hey, Arth.” Esben’s voice was quiet, and filled with a soft sadness. Artham moved to face his brother and smiled sadly. 

     “Are you ready for this?” He asked, knowing that Esben’s answer wouldn’t change what was happening. 

     “I think so,” Esben’s voice trailed off, and he looked down, his arms clasped tightly across his chest. Despite his real strength, the gesture made him look smaller. Seeing his brother so sad made Artham’s heart ache. He crossed the room quickly and wrapped his brother in a quick, tight hug. 

     “Me either.” Esben accepted the embrace in silence for a moment, then spoke in a small, quiet voice. 

     “I just wish none of this was happening. I wish…I wish they were still here.” 

     “Me too.” For just a few moments, Artham let his brother see part of his grief. Though he still searched for an answer to his burning questions, and though he was still hiding the worst of his feelings, over the past week or so, he had brought himself to acknowledge that sometimes his brother just needed someone to sorrow with. This was one of those sometimes. Artham breathed deeply when Esben pulled away from the embrace. 

     “Don’t hesitate to ask if you need something. I’ll try to stay close the whole time.” He adjusted the collar of his brother’s short, deep blue cloak, straightening it across Esben’s strong shoulders. It fell gracefully over his brother’s black tunic, ending at his knees. 

    “Stand tall, my king,” Artham said with just a hint of a playful tone. The brothers left the room and walked out to the courtyard. There, beneath puffy clouds floating on the breeze, stood a small knot of lords, ladies, officers, counselors, and other parts of the court. The boys greeted them quietly, and led the group along an old but smooth cobbled road. It lead outside the castle walls, around the patch of woods, and past a fork where the left road led to Rysentown. The right sloped gently uphill and to an old stone cathedral. It was one of the oldest buildings in Anniera. It was imposing but graceful, the moss growing on the lower parts of the walls and the way the building was built made it look like it had grown out of the heart of the island. 

     It had been bigger, but the histories told that most of it had been destroyed in a large earthquake, leaving a heap of rubble, and the central hall, along with a few attaching rooms, only slightly damaged. The Annierans, lovers of history, had done their best to repair the remaining rooms. The group paused in a respectful silence as they stepped into the wide, cool morning shadow of the building. 

     “The resting place of Kings,” Artham murmured, glancing from the large cathedral to the fields behind and around it, where memorial stones stood out from the ground in an orderly fashion. Between and around the stones blew soft grass and flowers, the occasional tree giving shade, obviously carefully tended but growing in their natural beauty. The group passed into the hall, and many took their seats on wide, carved wooden benches, and others milled around, making final adjustments on things like wall hangings and seat assignments. Artham and Esben walked around for a few quiet moments, greeting people and speaking softly to them, then stood by the door to greet people who didn’t live on castle grounds, and so weren’t there yet. Artham glanced at his brother who was whispering with someone and passing them a squarish, cloth wrapped, flat parcel. 

     “What did you bring?” Artham asked curiously as his brother rejoined him at the door. 

     “Oh, nothing. Just something for the funeral.” Artham was about to ask another question, but decided, 

     I’ve had plenty of secrets myself over the last few months, the least I can do is leave Esben’s alone. Unsatisfied, Artham nodded and turned to greet the person coming through the wide wooden door. 

     “Drustan!” A swift wave of surprise and gladness flew across Artham’s face as he clasped hands with the strong, skinny, redhead young man who came in. 

     “Artham!” Both boys were talking quietly, but still gave the impression of being glad to see each other. 

     “I haven't seen you in weeks,” Stated Dru, still glad to see his friend.

     “Well,” Artham said quietly, his voice returning to its now regular tone. “We’ve been busy.” Dru released his friend’s hand awkwardly. 

     “Yeah. Artham, I can’t tell you how sorry I am about…about everything.” 

     “Thanks.” They stood in a strange silence for a moment, then Artham nodded to his friend and turned to greet Dru’s father, a tall, imposing man who was the leader of Anniera’s army and a friend and fellow warrior of his aunt’s. 

     “Greetings, Sir Bren. I appreciate your presence.” Artham returned to the official, stiff voice he reserved for court. 

     “Greetings, your highness,” Artham was slightly taken aback by the new title, but shook hands with the large man as confidently as he could. Artham and Esben continued to greet people for a while, but were called into one of the annexing rooms by Bonifer, who was skittering everywhere, giving orders to make things go smoothly, even though it wasn’t exactly his job. 

     “Are you ready, lads?” 

     “No,” Esben replied honestly, and at the same time,

     “Yes,” came from Artham with a very convincing tone of confidence. The boys looked at each other in confusion. 

     “How about as ready as you can be?” Bonifer ventured, chuckling slightly. 

     “That works. How long do we have until it starts?” Artham asked curtly. 

     “A few minutes.” Bonifer adjusted the thin golden circle on Esben’s golden-brown hair and gave the boys an approving nod. 

     “Whether or not you think so, I believe you are ready. If you wish you may go out and sit in your appointed seats until it's time for you to speak.” Bonifer gave the boys a soft, sad look and went out the door. The brothers headed for the main hall, but paused for a moment, realizing that each wanted some physical touch from the other. They stood closer together, knuckles and shoulders brushing and walked into the large, beautiful cathedral.

A large stained glass window showered golden, red, blue, green, and other colors onto the stone floor, but most of the light came from glass lanterns hung around the walls. The room was filled with murmuring people, and a few still walked through the door. There was a platform at the front of the room, hung around by many lamps and lit by the window. The dancing light gave the impression of visible music or poetry that was written in color instead of letters. But that wasn’t what took Artham’s breath away. It was something that stood on the only slightly raised pedestal, where there was a carpeted place where the speakers or musicians would stand. In the center of it, was a thin easel. Artham couldn’t take his eyes off it, wanted to walk up to it, to touch it. Instead, he forced himself to breathe and sit down, his every move controlled. He held his head so he would appear to be looking straight ahead to the seated crowd behind him, but closed his eyes, avoiding his little brother’s concerned glances. He heard a musician stepping onto the pedestal, forced himself to half pay attention, but mostly allowed the rushing flood of memories and voices of the faces on the easel, his parent’s faces, his aunt’s face, to run its painful course.